


Consider the Ouroboros

by unlike_icarus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: AU extrapolation of some previous WoL, Angst, Body Horror, Character Death, Character Study, NPC perspective, Shadowbringers Spoilers, light gore, target audience: me, welcome to my kafka-esque nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlike_icarus/pseuds/unlike_icarus
Summary: "The future had already been written through the fires of a calamity far greater than any world would ever know, that was born far sooner and extended far longer than any of mankind’s pithy civilizations. There was naught anyone could do to stop or stave it, and so it was that any hero who rose up would then be knocked down. It wasn’t the fate Hades would have chosen for them, but was the fate they had been given."
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 1





	Consider the Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t played 5.3 yet so this is definitely canon inconsistent. pls no bully. This will likely be part of a series but should (ideally) be able to stand on its own two feet.

Two ancient doors parted to give way to a long, thin light that parted the antechamber’s shadows like curtains upon a stage. Azem lay at its heart, a throbbing heap upon the floor. Their elongating fingers scraped against stone and their nail beds bled to accommodate frightful claws. Fourteen statues with fourteen faces bore witness to their blazing pain, carefully carved cheeks awash in white light born of Azem’s torn flesh, but nevertheless remained solemn as stone. None saw Hades as he walked down a ribbon of light, nor did they hear him above Azemn’s guttural screaming. He thought it would be easier to meet them as a monster than as a man. How wrong he was. He could do naught but watch as their knuckles bent backwards and their ribs pressed up toward the sky. 

He was a fool to think his heart wouldn’t stir for them—Thought only of their fragmentary existence and not of who they'd fragmented from. In all his arrogance he hadn't considered that their pain would sound like the citizens of the Amaurot crying out in unison. His shaken soul wept for the miserable thing upon the floor, with their limbs stretched so painfully and skin torn so thoroughly that they scant looked like any man he had ever known. This was what became of heroes who supped upon so much light that they could be nothing **but** light; Until it rendered them a monster writhing in a hero’s skin. Hades intended to be better prepared for the pity that swelled within him when next they met. 

In spite of himself these fragments of Azem always seemed to make a home of his heart but their relentless constancy reminded him of his own heaviness. Of all thirteen shards this fragment of Azem was perpetual—a ghost of the Amaurot. For all that he should have hated this wretched thing’s cursed existence his heart stirred for them and them alone; For this spirit who refused the Underworld—Who refused _him_! How could he look upon their fixedness and not spare some shred of admiration? No man alive knew the nature of devotion as Hades knew it. 

When Azem could scream no more, they spoke. “Hades, I couldn’t have dreamed of how this light would burn!” 

He could say nothing in return, stricken by the sound of a name all but lost to time. Nevertheless he mustered the will to kneel at their side. He caressed their sweating face and found it to be cold. 

“I’m going to die.” It wasn’t a question but a bloodshot realization, their eyes replete with clarity. 

“Yet you will live again.” What was meant to feel reassuring instead felt like a threat upon his tongue. He swallowed thickly, tried to think of a way he might rectify the injustice of truth, “In a new era, a new world.”

“And this—?”

“Shall begin anew.”

“And you—?

"I’ll remain.”

Laughter cracked against the high vaulted ceiling and unsettled the dust, poured from Azem’s broken mouth till they swung low toward anguished keening. Fourteen statues averted their eyes in deference, white faces blank against their dark robes. Azem dragged their bleeding hands down their face and Hades could think only of the mask they’d once worn. He remembered, then, that he could no longer remember. What had it looked like? What were its intricacies? Hades felt uncomfortably aware of what he had forgotten, of what he would yet forget.

“I can do naught but apologize.” They mourned. “I’ll surely kill you next we meet—Surely you'll be laid to rest.”

Hades recoiled and ground his teeth, a punishment for his shock—Forced himself into the uncomfortable physicality of teeth sliding against teeth. Millenia waned on and on, time stretching forward towards the threatening eventuality of eternity, and though he had seen them live and die and live again the sentiment surprises him; Even now. His eyes dropped to the eggshell split of their chest where light flickered like a candle’s flame. The sight was terrible to behold and he, too, was terrible for having beheld it. 

“I pray you don’t waste this moment on an empty threat. When next you open your eyes, you’ll have forgotten your promise. This I can assure you.” His mocking had no teeth and his words were nothing if not tender. “This pain too, you’ll forget it as quickly as one would a dream.” He wanted to tell them more, so much more, but alas! They had precious little time. How could he begin to impart that they had been born of paradise, and that paradise had no need of heroes? Though they would fight a thousand thousand battles and die eight deaths they would yet know peace; He would bring them peace.

“Hades—” Their voice was faint then, more frail. Hades took them by their trembling hand and leaned into their bruised palm. He basked in this final moment of many final moments, felt exhilarated for feeling and having been felt. Yet for every measure of joy he could muster he felt shame tenfold—It wasn’t until the Amaurot lived and breathed that victory would cease to taste bitter in his mouth.

“You poor creature,” He murmured. “This life has naught more for you, nor do I save to cut you free of this frail and fractured form.”

The future had already been written through the fires of a calamity far greater than any world would ever know, that was born far sooner and extended far longer than any of mankind’s pithy civilizations. There was naught anyone could do to stop or stave it, and so it was that any hero who rose up would then be knocked down. It wasn’t the fate Hades would have chosen for Azem, but was the fate Azem had been given. So it was Hades who drove his hand into the cavity of Azem’s chest, Hades who pressed his hand flush and pushed. 

The surrounding statues nearly succumbed to Azem’s shrill shriek, so overpowering that it rang and rang in Hades’ ears till the pitch of it split his skull. What body had housed Azem cracked and crumbled, giving way to scintillating light. It burned, as it had always burned, and Hades felt his mortal form begin to melt beneath its radiance. Each of his gloved fingers peeled away till his skin was as gray as cinders, his nails as black as coal. From the light white marble fingers intertwined with his own and golden claws lay atop his gnarled knuckles. Raptly, he watched the serene mask of Azem’s face emerge from its prison. 


End file.
